Tuesday, September 06, 2005
I've stopped looking at apartment listings and real estate in Winnipeg. I've given up on running away from my life, my real life. I want to come home. Six more sleeps. And yet, I'm keeping myself occupied. For your morbid enjoyment, a bit of unreleased Winnipeg punk rock to accompany two grizzly stories:
"Body in the wall/Body in the wall/Couldn't hear his call/There's a DJ in the wall". Dead Guy #1. Here's the story: a DJ went missing. At around the same time, the bar in which he worked started to stink. Of course there were other circumstances that made people look elsewhere, because when it's laid out that clearly, it's hard to miss the truth. His body was stuck behind a wall. Friday night I was given the tour of the basement of said club. The drywall's been cut out all along the one side, the DJ long since removed. Still, it was perhaps in poor taste that my tour guide and I made out for awhile down there.
"Three-oh-nine/Three-oh-nine/It's the scene of the crime/Room three-oh-nine". Dead Guy #2. Murdered at the Royal Albert. Among the objects found in the room: Susin Sarandon's stolen necklace. Among the objects NOT found in the room: Greene's heart, intestines and genitalia. I've been offered the tour of this room as well. This time, I promise to behave.
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